


Somewhere Beyond

by icedteainthebag



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:17:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The night calls for a reconnect by lamplight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere Beyond

**Author's Note:**

> Post-IWTB. This was originally written for the Grand X-Files Porn Battle at LiveJournal. I wrote others but this one is dear to my heart.

The night calls for a reconnect by lamplight after the turbulent   
waves of the past subside. She undresses slowly and lays on the   
bed, waiting for him. It's silent. They're capable of speaking   
with or without words and she's not entirely sure where her   
preference lies. But his eyes speak volumes as he spoons up to   
her, wrapping his arm around her stomach.

She turns and looks at him. She sees a bright-eyed boy in there,   
somewhere beneath fine lines of age. Somewhere beyond his   
knowledge of things not to be mentioned. She touches the swollen   
wound above his left eyebrow, just another injury to add to the   
mental scrapbook detailing their battle wounds.

He kisses her palm and looks at her adoringly. It makes her   
smile, that look in his eyes. Like she's truly his world, the   
rays of sunshine in his life. "Hey," she says, running her thumb   
over his lower lip.

"I love you." The look in his eyes turns serious. Gravity is   
pulling him, pulling both of them gently back to firmly packed   
snow, blood-spattered under their feet. It had been so long since   
she'd smelled putrid blood, the vacant hint of death in the air.

"I love you too," she says. She remembers the first time they   
exchanged those words, really said them, verbatim, lucid, wrapped   
up in worn cotton sheets in his old apartment years ago. She'd   
been perched over his hips, hovering before the instant that   
everything changed, and the words slipped past her lips as her   
forehead touched his. He'd echoed them, his gentle voice like a   
dream. Feeling complete, at that moment and afterward, came at a   
price, a ransom they kept paying to fate.

"I want to be inside you," he whispers, running his fingers   
through her hair. He kisses her eyebrow. "Now. Forever."

"You are," she says. Their lips meet. He nudges against her   
mouth, parting his lips for more.

They consume each other in every imaginable way. His mouth   
caresses hers, grazes her neck. Her fingers read his back, the   
curves and lines, the ridges of his shoulders. His lips feather   
over the curves of her breasts, worship the hollow of her   
stomach. Breath arrives hot and moist on the inside of her bent   
knee, on her inner thigh, until he eagerly greets her with his   
tongue and she rises to him, a sharp breath out, a sharp breath   
in.

His fingers slip in, his tongue slides over, and she is moving   
her hips with him, to him, perfectly in synch with his mouth, his   
hand. He knows how to play her after years of practice, but it   
never feels like the same song.

She pulls on his hair and he rises over her. There are few times   
when she realizes how big he is, how small she is, but when he   
covers her body gently is when it's most obvious. He settles   
between her thighs and pushes into her, watching her face,   
meeting her eyes, listening intently to her moan. She tilts her   
hips and curls her legs around him, pulling him deeper. He   
nuzzles his face into her neck and she surrounds him, protecting   
him.

Reconnected, basic, his warm skin tastes just like him--that never   
changed over the years, the delicious taste of his shoulder. The   
way he kisses her and pulls at her bottom lip with his teeth, the   
way he smiles when she writhes under his body. His rhythm, his   
thrusts and his low, gravely moans. His hardness and how he   
whispers her name, the way she answers him with his own. Her   
fingernails and how they dig into his back, desperate for more.

Amid change, constants remain, and in a vulnerable world of   
darkness, she still sees a bright-eyed boy, hopeful in wonder,   
carelessly in awe.

\- end -


End file.
